Beginnings
by j-orbanski
Summary: John remembers how he and Sherlock got together. It's almost cliché: involving kissing in an alleyway, but John has always been fond of clichés for some reason.  John / Sherlock slash: Warnings: PWP, Facial, Blowjob in an alleyway


**001.) Beginnings**

**Author:** Jordan  
**Fandom:** Sherlock BBC  
**Pairing:** Sherlock / John  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** 1,139  
**Disclaimer:** Only borrowing the characters, nor profit, etc.  
**Summary:** John remembers how he and Sherlock got together. It's almost cliché: involving kissing in an alleyway, but John has always been fond of clichés for some reason.  
**Warnings:**PWP, facial, blowjob in an alleyway  
**Notes:** Written for my 100 prompts in 200 days

* * *

John sits in a white, wooden rocking chair in the sunshine. He can hear the buzzing of the hives nearby, and Sherlock yelling at Mycroft on the phone about the formations of different honeycombs of different breeds of honeybees.

He types up another blog entry, his final blog entry, about how the adventures of Sherlock and John have come to a close. They're too old for chasing criminals now. As he types, he remembers where it all began, at Bart's with a simple introduction from Mike Stamford. But everyone knows that story.

But the story that not many people know is the story of how John and Sherlock began.

The two were chasing down Moriarty operatives late at night during the summer of 2011. It was almost cliché how the next hours unfolded, but John has always been fond of clichés for some reason.

They were standing in a darkened alleyway, observing what was happening in the street. Two of Moriarty's operatives were supposed to be posing as drug dealers, but it wasn't drugs they were selling. It was poison designed to look exactly like the drug. Two young teens had already died from what they thought was marijuana. In Moriarty's defence, it was an herb they died from – ground up, dried cherry laurel leaves – a fatal dose.

John was determined to catch those scum bags. Sherlock just wanted to use them to get to Moriarty. All he wanted to do was take John's gun and shoot the bastard in the head, through and through. He wanted to be able to see clean through his head – use him like some type of morbid telescope.

It was almost too easy to pick out the operatives. John wanted to call Lestrade for back up. Sherlock told him to put his phone away or he'd break it in half. John rolled his eyes, but still put his phone away.

Sherlock told John to stay where he was before he sidled out of the shadows, put on one of his infamous personality masks, and approached the taller Moriarty operative.

The deal went smoothly. Sherlock handed over a few crumpled bills and got back two small baggies – one full of what was supposed to be marijuana, the other full of "cocaine."

He returned to the alleyway that John was standing in. They were just about to leave and head back to 221B when they realised something had gone very wrong somewhere.

The two operatives were now staring towards them, the shorter of the two on his cell phone, the other with his hand in his pocket, obviously fingering a gun.

They ran. Down the alley, into another, and around a few corners. Dead end.

"Fuck," John breathed.

They could hear the footsteps approaching. John had left his gun at home.

"Shut up and follow my lead," said Sherlock.

He shoved John against the brick wall and covered John's mouth with his. John was shocked for a moment and wanted to pull away, but then he remembered the two operatives that were just around the corner.

John closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the kiss. His hand wandered up to the back of Sherlock's head, grabbing a fistful of curls. Sherlock's right hand strayed from his shirt and interlocked with John's left hand.

Everything drifted away then, and all he could focus on was Sherlock's tongue in his mouth, tongues massaging each other, John's trousers growing more uncomfortable by the second.

Sherlock pulled away after what felt like decades later.

"They're gone," he whispered, resting his forehead against John's.

John wanted nothing more at that moment than to kiss Sherlock again, which surprised him. He didn't think he felt this way.

Sherlock, who could feel not only the erection in his own trousers, but also the one pressed against his thigh, hoped what he was about to do was the right thing. He threw caution to the wind as he kissed John again.

He released John's hand and ran it down his shirt, lingering at his belt buckle before undoing his belt, zip, and button.

John broke from the kiss, "Are you sure you want to do this?" he gasped, out of breath with desire.

Sherlock nodded before his hand slipped under the waistband of John's boxers, taking his cock in hand and stroking it lightly, ever teasing.

John's head rested on Sherlock's shoulder, kissing and biting at his pale neck.

Sherlock stroked him, his thumb rolling over the head with every stroke. But then he stopped completely and took his hand out of John's boxers.

"You cannot just tease me like that," John sighed.

The detective fell to his knees, shoving John's trousers and boxers towards his ankles, his engorged cock springing free of its binds. He smiled before he kissed the reddened head of his cock, John's breathing quickening by the second.

He took John's cock in his mouth, swirling his tongue as his fingertips came up and massaged John's balls.

A hand came to rest in Sherlock's curls once again as he bobbed his head, before he licked a stripe on the underside of John's cock.

"Not going to last much longer," John breathed as Sherlock looked up at him, seeing his half-lidded eyes, his tongue poking out of his mouth to wet his lips, his entire face glowing with happiness and arousal.

Sherlock took John's cock to the hilt, trying to ignore the reflex in the back of his mind screaming at him. He held John's hips against the wall to keep him from thrusting down his throat too hard.

He bobbed his head, scraping his teeth just for a moment to make John gasp.

"So close," John moaned.

Sherlock smirked as he once again stopped everything by letting John's cock fall out of his mouth, before he began to pump John's cock with his fist, giving a turn or two as he stroked him up and down as fast as he possibly could.

John moaned above him as he came, cum shooting onto Sherlock's face, dripping down his nose, coating his cheekbones.

"God, you're beautiful," said John, helping Sherlock to his feet.

John tucked himself back into his trousers, all the while looking at his cum dripping down Sherlock's face. He smirked before he licked the sticky fluid off of his cheeks, his nose, and his lips before he kissed him once more.

"Let's go home and I'll take care of this," John said, squeezing the bulge protruding from Sherlock's trousers.

Sherlock smiled as their fingers interlocked on their way back to 221B.

John will never forget that night. As he rocks gently in his rocking chair, he smiles as he remembers it. Sherlock has finally stopped yelling at Mycroft and has sat down next to him.

"Do you remember our first night together?" John asks with a smirk.


End file.
